Duty Calls
by The Uninspired
Summary: One-shots on everyone's favorite dynamic detective duo. Of course, strong Lassie/Jules friendship, and some Shules. Rated just in case.
1. Runway

**a/n:** Well, lookie here. Kitty has actually gotten around to uploading her Psych fanfics. How amusing.

Anyway, this is exactly what it is. Lassie and Jules have one of my favorite friendships in the world, and their relationship is just so awesome I must write about it. So here's some one-shots on it. I have lots written and lots planned out. It'll range from light-hearted to angsty to babies ever after to character-deathy to...well, everything, so expect the unexpected. And updates will be random and most likely infrequent. And yes, there will be Shules.

Each chapter will start with a one-liner tag line for the one-shot, which will be put in the chapter before it. For this one, the tag line is _Runway models are vicious._ And yes, I do take requests for tag lines.

* * *

Runway models are vicious.

Lassiter and O'Hara stood by the security guard, watching with concern and some disturbance as the models glared at each other and made snide comments.

"We're not going to get anything out of these guys," O'Hara said to her partner. He shook his head slowly.

They're all egomaniacs," he said slowly. "All we have to do is start by talking about them, then ease into the investigation."

"Got it," O'Hara said with a firm nod.

But that plan turned and slapped them in the face.

They had had run-ins with models before, on Spencer and Guster's "Black and Tan" case. The models this time wasted no time in criticizing Lassiter's tie, then move on to his hair, which he apparently _really_ should dye completely black. O'Hara's badge, which he wore around her neck, obviously didn't match anything, and she should consider dressing flashier. All they wanted was to find out what model tried to poison the other, not fashion advice. They stumbled out of the interviews backstage with emotional scars.

"Well, that was a disaster," O'Hara huffed.

"Apparently they'd rather bad talk other people," Lassiter growled, absently fiddling with his tie and glancing around. "The show's about to start. Let's go see what we can find."

As it turned out, a full-out slap fight spawned on the catwalk. Security jumped right on it, and somehow, just _somehow_, the two detectives were pulled into the middle of it.

"Ow. Ow. Ow."

"Everything hurts."

"Didn't you date a model before, Carlton? Wouldn't you know if their claws were so sharp?"

"I dated a theatre chick, O'Hara. They're insane in a different way."

Detectives Lassiter and O'Hara limped into the Santa Barbara Police Department, looking like road kill. Lassiter was nursing an oozing claw mark across his eyes, and there was a bright red slap mark on his cheek that refused to fade. One of O'Hara's shoes was missing a heel, and she had a nasty bruise on her jaw. Chief Vick caught them near Lassiter's desk.

"My God," she groaned. "What happened this time?"

Both of them tried to explain at once.

"None of them were cooperating-"

"-hostile, to put it very lightly-"

"-knew nothing about the poisoning, and only cared about themselves-"

"-total egomaniacs-"

"-and my badge-"

"-even though my tie is just _fine_-"

"-vicious beasts-"

"-the _claws _-"

"-worse than the marmosets-"

"-complete waste of time-"

"Detectives!" Chief Vick stopped them short. Lassiter and O'Hara made brief eye contact before awkwardly looking back to their superior. "We've brought in the top suspects for questioning...which is all of them."

"What? How?" Lassiter interjected.

"And so fast, too..." O'Hara murmured. The Chief gave them a stern look, which immediately quieted their chatter.

"You're going to do down there and interrogate them, okay?"

"Got it, Chief," Lassiter agreed for both of them, grimacing as the cuts across his eye started to swell. "Just...don't call Spencer in for this one."

"Too late!" a voice called from behind the detective. Lassiter winced; his ears had been boxed in the fight. Shawn Spencer strode in between the two detectives, his stupid grin fading a bit.

"Whoa, Jules, Lassie, what happened?"

"They had a little...run-in with the models," the Chief sighed. "Just solve this case before anything else happens. And Detective Lassiter, get that cut patched up."

* * *

Reviews are loved. ;) No offense to runway models and theatre kids everywhere. I'm sure you're all lovely people.

**Next chapter:** _It was disgusting._


	2. Blood

**a/n;** Oh, look at me, not procrastinating on updating. Anyway, this one's kinda gory. And short. But hey, I thought I'd take a shot at it.

_disclaimer; I do not own Psych or its characters. If I did, Lassie would hook up with the Chief's sister._

* * *

It was disgusting.

When the department got a hysterical call about a death, O'Hara hadn't expected this at all. As a trained professional, she was used to seeing some pretty gruesome things, but this looked like it was straight out of a rated X horror movie.

The body of a teenage boy was in the center of the garage, sprawled out in an impossible manner. Anything below his wait was untouched, while his upper body was nothing more than a gory crater of blood and bone. Bloody power tools lay nearby, with bits of flesh in the teeth - hell, there were bits everywhere, splattered all around the floor and walls. The sickening, thick smell of copper hung in the air like fog, and it made O'Hara physically ill, forcing herself to keep her lunch in.

She barely registered the sobbing mother off to the side, the forensics guys gently moving her to the side, the dead boy's sister stammering to someone while furiously swiping at her eyes every few seconds. Her partner listened to the girl talk, not showing any expression. He moved toward O'Hara, placing a hand on her shoulder. Jumping, she turned to look at him, her eyes burning. Carlton gave her a firm but touchingly sympathetic look, like the kind that Ewan gave her when she was younger.

"You can wait in the car," he murmured, his voice low. "I'll get what info I need and we can come back after this is cleaned up."

He strode past her, his usual air of confidence diminished somewhat. The head detective gingerly hugged the wall, avoiding the pool of blood while taking in all the details at his usual professional speed. And Juliet could only stare at him, like a child, a helpless child. Carlton stepped toward the mother, who had followed him into the garage, still sobbing.

"Well," he announced to everyone, his voice abnormally loud in the silent garage. "This is the closest I've seen anyone come to tearing the heart out."

And with that, Juliet abruptly turned on her heel and half walked, half ran back to Carlton's car, seeking air that didn't reek of death.

* * *

**Next chapter:** _It was a Saturday night, McNab was covering her shift at the station, and her husband wasn't working a case. _(contains Shules.

Also, I _am_ taking requests. Reviews are like pineapples: awesome.)


	3. Knock

**a/n;** This one's kind of fluffy, but we all need a little fluff in our lives.

_disclaimer; If I owned Psych_..._well, i don't know what would happen. I also don't own Disney._

* * *

Juliet did not get a lot of time with her family, but this was different. It was a Saturday night, McNab was covering her shift at the station, and her husband wasn't working a case. Perfect cuddle time for the happy couple and their young children.

Millie was curled up in between her parents on the love seat, letting her mother comb her fingers through her dark hair. Their younger son, Nate, was hogging an arm chair near the TV, working on the only bowl of popcorn. The Spencers were settling down to watch a ridiculous 2001 Disney Channel movie called "The Luck of the Irish." Since Shawn couldn't make snarky comments to Juliet aloud (there were impressionable _children_ in the room), he was texting her constantly.

About thirty minutes into the movie, there was a knock at the door. Shawn and Juliet shared a look; who in their right mind would be soliciting them at 8PM? It was well past the prime time to getting donations. The psuedo-psychic stood up slowly and sneakily, sliding around in his socks to answer the door. He pulled it open in a dramatic fashion, ready to have a psychic episode to get the person to leave, but he was surprised to see the head detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department.

"Lassie!" Shawn greeted, sounding just the slightest bit confused. Lassiter was turned partially around, his gun drawn, though his finger wasn't on the trigger. "Something wrong?"

"Listen, Spencer," Lassiter said quietly, turning around. "I have reason to believe an ex-con I put away a few years ago has found my house."

"And what reasons are those, Lassie?" Shawn asked in his usual way, crossing his arms over his chest.

"The paper was in a different position on the sidewalk, the hose was out front, and there were muddy footsteps on the...steps," Lassiter listed, shaking off the awkwardness of that last phrase.

"And you remember how your paper was placed from this morning."

"Like you wouldn't," he snorted. "Besides, the personals were on the outside, as opposed to the main page."

"Hmm..." Shawn stroked his 5 o'clock shadow thoughtfully. "Touché. So you're here because you need to bust this guy?"

"No," Lassiter scoffed. "I don't have nearly enough evidence against him. I need a place to stay."

Shawn pulled a face, but before he could reply, Juliet walked up next to him.

"Carlton?" She took in his disheveled hair, untucked shirt, drawn gun, and absence of a tie in a single glance. "Something wrong?"

Shawn relayed the situation back to his wife, laced with the usual sarcasm and obscure 80s references.

"Of course you can stay here," Juliet confirmed, giving her husband a look. "Millie'll be happy."

"And you can't stay in a hotel, why?" Shawn piped.

"Are you kidding me? I don't trust hotels, unless I absolutely have to."

"You realize the ex-con could've followed you here, right?"

"I drove around the city for a good thirty minutes before I came here. He couldn't have followed me."

"And you're planning on staying here overnight?"

"I keep extra stuff in my trunk."

There was a brief pause. The two Spencers shared a look.

"Wow, Lassie. You're crazy prepared."

Lassiter holstered his gun, putting the safety on. "I'm taking that as a compliment."

And so, Carlton Lassiter joined the four Spencers in their joyful movie watching. Millie, although only five, loved the detective like he was her father, and sat in his lap for the remainder of the movie. He put in his commentary for the movie, keeping it PG rated. ("Seriously, an Irish guy running a potato factory? That's just horrible.") Shawn kept insisting that the guy playing the evil leprechaun looked like Lassiter, but no one else saw it.

Eventually, both kids fell asleep, and all of the adults wandered off to the kitchen for frothy mugs of pineapple juice.

"Lassie," Shawn started dramatically, as they all say down at a table, "I think your intruder is a desperate gardener."

* * *

(You'll be seeing more of Millie and Nate. I might just start a whole other one-shot series on them.  
PS: Tim Om in The Luck of the Irish...is just so ridiculous. I wondered for the longest time why Lassiter looked so familiar.  
Reviews and requests are like frothy mugs of pineapple on a cold winter's night.)

**Next chapter:** _"Carlton, what are you doing for Christmas?"_


	4. Stakeout

Juliet quickly decided that she didn't like stakeouts. When studying how to conduct one properly at the academy, the whole concept just didn't seem very appealing. Of course, sitting in a disclosed position for an indeterminable amount of time watching people do illegal things is never fun. Unless your name is Carlton Lassiter.

December 23, 2010. A navy blue Crown Vic sat in the shadows fallen over a parking lot for an apartment building. The two detectives inside had gotten a hint that there would be some suspicious activity going on, but the tipper couldn't specify. This left them with an entire night stuck in a car together, staring at a back door. They were accompanied only by the police radio, but it's not like they could leave on another call anyway.

Juliet, fed up with the silence, turned to her partner.

"Carlton, what are you doing for Christmas?"

He looked at her, frowning, but not in a disapproving way. "Well...Lauren's staying with me over the break. We're going to our mom's for dinner on Saturday. Why?"

"Just curious," Juliet replied lightly. "Your other siblings aren't coming?"

Carlton shook his head, absently shifting his hand on the steering wheel. "They live too far away. It'd be even more hell-ish with them here, anyway."

"Elaborate?"

He gave her a look, to which she smiled sheepishly. "I don't like sitting in silence, Carlton. You know that."

"That's very true, O'Hara." He paused, collecting his thoughts. His fingers absently started drumming on the steering wheel. "My older sister lives in New Jersey. She moved there after marrying a guy named Raul, and my mom wasn't too pleased with that. If you catch my drift." O'Hara's eyebrows rose, but she didn't comment. "My asshole of an older brother lives in South America. He just vanished one day, until I tracked him down. I think he's after some 'gnarly waves, man'," Carlton continued, putting on his perfected surfer slur for the last few words. He shook his head, his hand sliding down the wheel and back to his side. "She always likes to criticize us. Only the adult children, though. Lauren gets off easy because everyone loves Lauren."

Juliet nodded; from what she had heard, Lauren sounded like someone she'd be friends with. Of course, there was the possibility she had the apparent Lassiter temper, but it didn't sound like it reared its ugly head as much as her brother's did.

"Did the Chief ever show you the tape of my inauguration?" he asked, looking at her. His eyes seemed brighter in the dim blue light coming from the apartments. Juliet shook her head, not wanting to speak. Carlton never talked this much to her. Maybe he secretly loved the holidays. "The whole time she was either glaring or shaking her head. Kinda funny, actually. She expected me to go straight from detective to chief." He had gone back to watching the back door of the building. "I guess I shouldn't have talked to her so much about the position."

"Well, if it's worth anything, Carlton," Juliet said, as the apartment door swung open, "I think you'd make a great chief." Pause. "Not that I hope that something happens to Vick, hell no, but-"

He cut her off, smiling at her - genuinely _smiling_ - and after a second she thought she imagined it. Carlton pulled out his trusty Glock and cocked it, grabbing the handle of his door.

"Thanks, O'Hara. Now let's go catch some bad guys."

* * *

**a/n; **Yay, Christmas!

I assume the episodes "Dead Bear Walking" and "Yang 2 in 3D" happened after the New Year, considering Shawn was on suspension until then. So this happened after "The Polarizing Express".

This is based a lot on Lassiter's blog, which contains a great deal of personal info on him. It's worth reading. ;)

**Next chapter: **_And just like that, she was gone, out like a light._


	5. Olivia

This serial killer was strange.

He targeted people in wheelchairs - be they permanently or temporarily disabled, they were in grave danger, because this guy stopped at nothing to kill them. Lassiter and Juliet had been puzzling over the entire thing - who was this guy and why did he hate wheelchairs? Or did he just hate wheels? Or chairs? Or disabled people? It's not like anyone takes a census on who hates them or not, leaving the suspect list wide open, to practically anyone in the state at the time of the murders.

The only lead they had got, however, was when one of the murders turned into an attempt.

Olivia Hollis was taken into the station a mere thirty minutes after she called. Medics looked her over, and she would be fine. She was in a wheelchair for reasons she refused to tell the two detectives, and all they knew was that she'd be walking in a few months.

"Ms. Hollis, could you tell us exactly what happened?" Juliet asked in the interrogation room. Lassiter waited behind the glass, listening with rapt attention. Olivia scowled, leaning forward in her chair.

"Please, just call me Olivia. And boy, do I have a lot to tell you."

And so, she launched into a huge explanation. Lassiter was stuck in the observation room for nearly an hour, taking incredibly detailed notes on this killer and what description he should put out. They stepped out of the rooms, the two detectives stretching their cramped legs.

"Don't worry, Olivia," O'Hara was saying. "We'll keep an eye on you until we catch this guy."

"What are you going to do, send a few cops to my house?" Olivia snapped, looking at O'Hara like she was crazy. Lassiter kept quiet. "Pssh, like that's going to stop him from finishing his job."

Lassiter raised his eyebrows, sharing the same look with his partner.

"Please ma'am," the head detective tried, "our officers are probably best equipped to handle this."

She gave him a look, and he was taken aback by how piercing her gaze could be.

"Well, if you say so, Detective," she agreed reluctantly. "But..." Olivia nodded to the stairs leading up to the main station. "You're going to have to carry me up those stairs to get me out of here. I don't see a ramp or an elevator."

"Looks like someone has a soft spot for you," O'Hara whispered to him. He gave her a look, though it wasn't completely disapproving.

Even though Lassiter and McNab did eventually get Olivia up the stairs, she never did leave for long. She spent most of the next day in the station, hanging out around Lassiter's desk. Her excuse for the Chief was that she didn't feel safe at home, despite the officers sent with her, and the Chief didn't mind, since she was a valuable witness, and...well, she did encourage Lassiter to get his work done.

"I swear," he was telling O'Hara while getting a cup of coffee, "she could kill people with those eyes of her. I feel like she staring into my soul whenever she comes over to talk to me. I can't take a break at all."

"You're telling me," his partner whispered back. "You have the same kind of eyes."

As she walked away, Lassiter froze. Did he really...?

But as it turns out, Olivia wasn't as bothersome as Lassiter pinned her to be. Her personality complimented his marvelously, as it turned out, and although they argued constantly, they got along a lot better than they would've with other people.

"You two bicker like a married couple," McNab pointed out one day, smiling in his usual silly manner. "It's really fun to watch."

Lassiter and Olivia looked at each other, frowning, before launching into another quarrel.

"We do _not_ act like a married couple."

"It's not like I would marry a stiff like _him_, anyway."

"Oh, _I'm_ stiff?"

O'Hara and McNab grinned at each other as he walked toward his desk and she wheeled after him, shouting at each other all the way.

One day, Olivia eventually went back to her house. The department was usually quiet that day, until Lassiter received a tip.

"They found him!" he shouted, loud enough for the entire precinct to hear. "A guy matching his description was seen going into a house."

Lassiter ran to his car, with O'Hara barely being able to keep up.

"Carlton, isn't this...?" she asked, as they pulled up to the house. Carlton's jaw was set, his eyes locked on the house.

"Yeah, it's hers."

Lassiter kicked the door down, and the force of officers cleared the entire first floor. The head detective dashed up the stairs, closely followed by his partner, and barred his way into the only closed room with his shoulder.

"SBPD!" he shouted, his gun pointed right at the killer's head. But before they could even begin to reason things, the killer fired.

And just like that, she was gone, out like a light.

For the first time in his life, Lassiter wavered. The brick wall had finally been broken. O'Hara pulled the trigger as Olivia's body collapsed, the gun flying out of the killer's hand.

"Don't move!" she growled. O'Hara, not lowering her weapon, walked cautiously toward him. Lassiter didn't move, his eyes locked on Olivia's face. He had witnessed plenty of deaths in his time on the force, but they had never been so close to the heart. While O'Hara booked the perp, Lassiter adjusted Olivia's position and closed her eyes. Those piercing green eyes.

He nearly tripped on the discarded wheelchair on the way out of the room.

Juliet and Carlton walked out of the house together, in silence. The killer was taken away in a cruiser half an hour ago, but both detectives were stalling so they didn't have to meet the onslaught of paperwork waiting for them.

"I'm sorry, Carlton," Juliet murmured, looking at him. He sighed, glancing at his partner before looking to the sky. It looked like it was about to rain.

"It's part of the job, O'Hara," Lassiter said, "and a part of life. Relationships grow and die. It's happened before."

Juliet thought for a second, folding her arms over her chest. "Victoria."

"Hmm?"

"She reminded you of Victoria."

Lassiter allowed himself a smile, one so brief O'Hara wouldn't have caught if she wasn't a detective.

"They both had a certain charm, yeah. But Olivia was...different. She didn't want me to change my life, to be a better person."

"So basically she wasn't as needy."

"Yeah, definitely."

O'Hara smiled in spite of herself, putting her hands back by her side. They were almost to the car now (that walkway was _long_). On a whim, she suddenly took his hand. He tensed up, but eventually relaxed. His hands were rough and calloused, but she expected nothing less from a man who practically lived at the shooting range.

"You liked her, I know you did, but you'll find someone, Carlton," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her partner squeezed her hand before letting go to open his car door.

That night, Lassiter's nightmares of snow globes and psychics dissolved into dreams of glowing green eyes and bickering married couples. It was a change for the better.

* * *

**a/n;** Y'know, I told myself I wouldn't make an OC for Lassie, and if I did I wouldn't write anything about her, but...oh well. Besides, the name Olivia Lassiter just rolls right off, doesn't it? I think I compromised with myself enough with this, though.

PS: Yes, I did post this chapter, delete it, and then resubmit it. Typos, you know.

Reviews are like this gum I'm chewing: pineapple-flavored (purely by coincidence) and refreshing.

**Next chapter:** _"He's just like Jasper, but without the fur."_


	6. Animal

Going straight to Santa Barbara from Miami was no cakewalk.

None of her family lived in the area, nor did her friends from the academy, or high school, or anything. It was starting anew. But for Juliet O'Hara, it was the scariest thing in her life.

Luckily, Chief Vick welcomed her into the SBPD, being thoroughly impressed by her score on the DET and her police work in general. McNab was always friendly with her, and the rest of the station didn't seem to hate her.

Well, her partner still didn't seem to like her. But he seemed pretty defiant and bitter towards everyone.

Since she didn't know anyone in Santa Barbara, she related everyone she met to people from her hometown.

"It's so weird here," she was telling her mother over the phone one night. "I can't stop relating people here to people from home. You know my new partner, Detective Lassiter? He's just like Jasper, but without the fur. Or the cuddliness."

Jasper was her old tomcat they rescued off the streets back in Florida. He was a massive silver tabby, most of his size composed of muscle and fluff. The cat had a tendency to despise anyone who wasn't Juliet, hissing at you even if you walked in the same general direction as him. He was incredibly grumpy all the time, except when he was sleeping. And his _eyes_. Ewan often joked he could melt glaciers with those steely blue eyes of his. But he was a cat, that was ridiculous.

And as he started to warm up to her and respect her as a person, she could see more of her cat. The way he instinctively put his hand on his Glock when Shawn was around was just like how Jasper would snarl every time Juliet's dad came in the room.

"I think you two would've gotten along," she told him, after expressing their similarities. Ironically, they were on a cat show case. "You both would kill anyone who got on your nerves in the slightest."

"Well, not kill," he corrected, eyeing a tabby that was staring straight at him. "Maybe maim or severely injure, but certainly not kill. And I wouldn't be as obvious as a cat, either."

Juliet could only sigh. Her partner could be rather humurous when you looked past his trigger-happy mindset and overall unpleasantness.

"Yeah, and he fishes," Juliet was telling her mother. "He takes three creams in his coffee, though he's trying to cut down. He can't get any more Jasper-like if he tried."

Shawn said he pictured the head detective more like a dog, which would (admittedly) be less humiliating.

"Maybe a Chihuahua. Looks like a joke, but packs a...bark," the psuedo-psychic offered. "Or perhaps a border collie. He'd certainly save Timmy from that well. And maybe an Irish bloodhound, just for kicks."

Of course, leave it to Shawn to make a joke out of her joke.

Juliet could only see her cat in Carlton's eyes before, but now she sees Carlton in her cat's eyes. And honestly, she's not sure what's better.

* * *

**a/n; **R/R? (:

**Next chapter:** _"They've got her, and I couldn't stop them."_


	7. Concussion

It's one thing when Detective Lassiter is late to work. It's another when the Chief is.

Lassiter only comes late when he's chasing a perp early in the morning, before his shift starts. It's happened once or twice, but he's always strictly on time. The Chief is never late, ever, because even though she has a young daughter to take care of, she doesn't have to chase down criminals or shoot people anymore. At least, not always.

Juliet had called her partner five times that day. He was an hour late, and if he had been chasing a criminal, she would've been by his side. But she wasn't, and that's what was worrying her. The Chief wasn't there either, but no one looked in the Chief's office, anyway. She intimidated them all too much, except for her two top detectives.

And if the two senior employees of the department weren't there, who would run the department?

They set the mood for the entire day, they gave out all the orders, they did practically _everything_. Juliet had already gotten several of Lassiter's jobs for the day, because when they weren't around, everyone turned to the head detective's partner. Her phone was constantly ringing, yet none of the calls were from her partner. She could almost hear him telling her excitedly about catching the drug lord they'd been tracking for a month now, or a notorious thief that always danced a tantalizing distance from his fingertips.

What she didn't expect was exactly what happened.

The doors flung open, slamming into the walls with a _bang_.

"She's gone!" Detective Lassiter shouted, stumbling into the station and gasping like a dying fish. "They've got her, and I couldn't stop them."

All heads turned toward him, but only Juliet acted. She shot up, running to her partner's side as he fell to his knees. There was blood, so much blood, oozing from a wound on the side of his head, and he had several bruises on his face. His shirt was ripped, his tie missing, and his eyes - oh, God, his eyes. There was a certain despair, a certain sense of loss in them that Juliet hoped she'd never see again.

"They've got who, Carlton?" she asked softly, helping him to his feet. "Someone get the first aid kit!" she barked to the rest of the precinct, with the hostility of a mother bear protecting her cub. The whole department, which had come to a halt, suddenly started bustling. Juliet cupped her partner's face in her hands, looking at the gash.

"Th-The Chief," Lassiter managed. He was shaking, she realized. "A van just came up and grabbed her. I was driving by, and I-I tried to stop it." She could hardly hear his voice now. McNab quickly brought the kit to Juliet, who flung it open and immediately grabbed the gauze.

"They had a pipe in the van," he whimpered, wincing as she started to disinfect the wound. "I couldn't reach for my gun, I was trying to get the Chief. Th-They got me pretty badly, but didn't bring out the pipe until I had a firm grip on Iris."

"Iris?" Juliet gasped, momentarily stopping in her dabbing of disinfectant. "They have Iris?"

"Yeah." Lassiter swallowed hard. "She was in the car with the Chief."

"Damnit," Juliet growled. She finished dressing his wound. "Okay Carlton," she started, reverting back to a soft voice, "your wound isn't as bad as it looks. Head wounds just bleed a lot. You can rest soon, but I need you to tell me what the van or the kidnappers looked like."

For a second, Lassiter just looked at her. Juliet decided that his eyes looked empty - they certainly had a puppy-dog feel to it, but it wasn't sad. It was just...hollow. Gone. Like they'd never express emotion again.

"Alright," he finally agreed, attempting to stand up straight. He'd been leaning against reception. "We have to catch these sonuvabitches before anything worse can happen to th' Chief 'n Iris." He took a step forward, starting to drawing his Glock.

"Carlton," Juliet said firmly, putting a hand on his. "You're in no condition to chase down criminals, let alone drive. You probably have a concussion."

He stared at her, his usually sharp mind slowed to a sluggish pace. Juliet sighed, steering him back to reception.

"McNab!" Juliet shouted, with an unusual roughness. The large junior detective ran up, looking eager.

"Yeah Juliet?"

"I'm taking him to the hospital," she explained, patting Lassiter on the shoulder. "I'll get the details on the van, and you'll put out a warning and try to find the bastard that kidnapped the Chief and her daughter. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am!" McNab agreed enthusiastically. As Juliet helped walk Lassiter to her car, he grinned stupidly at her.

"Y'know, I kinda like bossy Juliet."

Juliet turned her head away from him, grinning. Maybe Lassiter with a concussion wouldn't be too bad during the car ride.

* * *

**a/n;** Lotsa things going on with this chapter.

Juliet is actually swearing more often in this, because I imagine that if Lassie can't fill the 'bad cop' position of their good cop-bad cop relationship, then she steps in for him.

If you didn't already know, Iris is the Chief's daughter. We saw her give birth.

And I'm sorry if any of this information is incorrect. Most of my knowledge on head wounds and concussions (and medicine in general) comes from my history teacher last year, The Office, and Wikipedia. Sorry 'bout that.

**Next chapter:** _"I was the only one with you, I should've been shot instead."_


	8. Magnolia

**a/n;** Yay! First update of the year!

Anyway, this one is not anything like I usually do, but hey, if there's one thing I love, it's changing it up a bit. So here ya go.

* * *

The sun just barely peaked over the horizon. A tall figure stood in a graveyard, hands in his pockets, staring at one marker without blinking. It was a special day for him, but not necessarily in a good way. With a resigned sigh, he sat down in front of the grave in the plush grass, folding his long legs and placing his hands on his knees.

"It's been a exactly year, Juliet. I really can't believe it." His voice seemed to echo through the area, but he didn't really care. He played with a leaf on the ground in front of him, one that fell from the magnolia tree to the left of the grave. He could tell her husband had been here earlier, based on the fresh roses resting at the foot of the grave. There were always roses, every single day he came. He tried to come at least once a month, but never talked. Ever. Until today. Her loyal partner, Carlton Lassiter, thought for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

"Millie's turning more like you by the day." No response. He wasn't expecting one. "She spends more time in the department than she does at home. All she ever reads is mystery books, and she always solves it before the obviously idiotic characters do." He stopped again, looking at the sun. "She wears your badge all around the station. Everyone's started calling her 'Detective'." Still not very far over the horizon. _I have time_, he thought, running a hand through his short hair, which was still damp from his shower. _No one's going to care if I'm late._

"I should probably tell you that I'm the Chief now. Or at least, Interim Chief. Vick is going to be away for a few months on some sort of business, and I'm left in charge. McNab's my partner now. He's still pretty naive, but he's a rookie, and he passed his exam with flying colors. A 96.5. Almost rivaling our scores." He laughed, a soft, short laugh that wasn't hollow, but wasn't exactly happy either. "Yeah, it occurred to me that Vick leaving may have had something to do with me marrying her sister. You can imagine how awkward it is at family dinners. The wedding wasn't anything spectacular, but I wished with every fiber of my being you could've been there, O'Hara."

Even if she was gone, he called her O'Hara by instinct, even if she was a Spencer. She never called him out on it though, probably because she knew he'd never ever call her Spencer, even if his life depended on it.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he said suddenly, fiddling with his badge absently. "Nate." Carlton thought for a second. "He's pretty much his father in toddler form. Super-observant even at age three, but a pain in my ass as it is. He manages to get a hold of one of my possessions every day without fail, most notably my badge...which he somehow gets from my belt. The thought doesn't make me comfortable though. He also spends an incredible amount of time with the Guster kid, Tom. There's another one now, too. I believe her name's Asha?" He sighed, slouching. His usually rigid posture had no point when he was alone, anyway. "Spencer's unbelievably proud of Nate. Of both of his kids."

His voice dropped to a low volume, though it still seemed too loud in the silent cemetery. "He blames himself, you know. He thinks he could've caught the culprit earlier, and beat himself up for the first few months, just an emotional wreck crying on the inside. He's fine now, but..." Pause. "It wasn't his fault at all. If it's anyone's besides the bastard who pulled a gun on us anyway, it's me. I was the only one with you, I should've been shot instead." His voice cracking, Carlton continued. "But everyone blamed themselves at some point. Even Guster and the Chief. And he's put away now, put away for life, and your husband's fine. He's got two constant, happy reminders of you, and that's enough for him. For the entire department." He smiled faintly, looking up at the marker. In bold letters, it read 'JULIET SPENCER. ONE HELL OF A COP.'

"This is corny, but...you may have never returned my stapler, but you're the best partner I ever had." Carlton looked up, spotting a single flower on the magnolia tree. Slowly, he stood up, noticing for the first time that the dew from the grass had soaked into his pants and jacket. Spencer would probably make comments on it, he was already late, and today was the anniversary of a tragic incident, but Interim Chief/Head Detective Carlton Lassiter had a feeling this he'd be in a good mood today. He'd had a talk with someone he thought he'd never speak to again.

* * *

**a/n;** Like I said, character death is not something I like doing, as I try to avoid cliché angst as much as possible. So here's a kind of calm take on it. (:

Lo and behold, the Guster and Spencer kids make cameo! And yes, Lassie/the Chief's sister is the best pairing ever. Too bad Jane Lynch is so busy with Glee.  
(I do toy with Lassie/Vick, though. It's been ship-teased even though it could never happen in-universe.)

**Next chapter:** It's a surprise. ;)


	9. Drip

Time had seemed to vanish. How long had it been? An hour? A day? She was just glad she was alive, and the air wasn't musty - it was cool, damp, breathable. Her eyes burned, despite the fact the only things in the room were the chair she was in, the leaky pipe that was dripping, and complete and total darkness.

_Drip._

There was nothing to look at, nothing to distract her thoughts. She couldn't stop thinking, as ideas and questions and memories began bubbling to the surface. Amongst the flashes of her life and the questioning of her life, the one memory that kept stabbing through was the last moment that she had seen the sunlight. The blood gushing from Detective Lassiter's head as he attempted to save her daughter, getting a firm grip on her arm before having his skull bashed by a crowbar.

_Drip._

She closed her eyes, breathing deeply through her nose (as her mouth was tied up). Was he even still alive? The falling water eventually broke its way into her plethora of thoughts, settling in the background like an unwanted admirer, like the kind her officers locked up. It poked at her sanity, teasing and laughing softly.

_You'll never get out of this alive. He's dead, dead as a doornail, and it was all to save you._

_Drip._

_"You're wrong," _she thought back numbly, _"Detective Lassiter is one of the strongest people I know. Even if he couldn't get to me, his partner would._" And part of her doubted this, but she wanted to believe it with all of her heart. Her faith was slipping, leaking out into the unknown.

_But what about your daughter, hmm? No one knows what they've done to her. And it's all your fault, because you had to go into police work, instead of something safer. If you had, none of this would've happened. None of this __could__ have happened._

_Drip._

And she shoved the thoughts out of her mind, banishing the teasing voice until she had a better grip of reality. In its place, each drip brought a name to mind, a face, memories.

_Drip._

Her husband. Iris. Carlton. (_He can't be dead, he can't be dead, __he can't be dead__._) Juliet. Shawn. Gus. And even people that she hadn't spoken to in years resurface, like her sister, her best friend in high school, her favorite professor in college. And it hurt, because there was a chance she'd never see them again.

She screwed her eyes tighter, thinking that maybe if she closed her eyes enough, the sound would stop, and her sanity would come back.

_Drip_.

Lassiter would burst into the room with only a scratch on his temple, and nothing more. Shawn would be talking excitedly to the press, with Gus keeping a handle on him. Juliet would be fussing over her. Iris would be completely safe. And everything would be fine...just fine...

Just when she expected another drop to fall, the door to the room slammed open. Her eyes opened on instinct, but immediately closed again. The light was blinding, and Chief Vick picked out that the silhouette standing in the door was female. It wasn't tall enough or broad-shouldered enough to be a male.

_Drip._

"Chief!" the familiar voice exclaimed. Juliet O'Hara flicked on a light switch, running over to her. The next few minutes were a blur. Suddenly, Shawn was with them, talking at a worrying pace to Juliet. They were helping her walk out of the building (one person per side) while officers rushed past, not even noticing the head detective's partner and resident psychic escorting the Chief of Police out of her prison, where she was kept for the past day. Chief Vick accepted the overcast lighting of the outdoors with relief; her eyes adjusted quickly. Paramedics were bustling toward her, and before they could put her in an ambulance, she glanced over to Juliet's car.

There sat Carlton, his sunglasses on despite the weather. The side of his head was bandaged heavily, and he seemed to be sleeping. But when the Chief emerged from the building, his face split into a smile, and his sigh of relief was visible. She was _alive_, and he hadn't attacked ten men in a van with no backup for no reason. His mind was still pretty scrambled, but at least he could relax now and let his concussion fade.

Iris had been rescued ten minutes before, as the Chief had been kept in a room deep within the building. Other than a few scrapes and bruises, both were fine, just shaken up.

Juliet climbed into her car after giving the press her statement, sighing. The two partners sat in silence, until Carlton spoke up.

"My head hurts."

His partner grinned at him in spite of herself. "C'mon, Carlton, we'll get you a coffee and head back to the station with the ambulance. I'm sure the Chief will want you awake until I finish the paperwork for this."

* * *

**a/n; **surprise surprise? This is a followup to chapter 7, if you couldn't tell.

I'm actually not too happy with this chapter. I wrote it in like...twenty minutes. I find I have a better train of thought when I write fast. Eh. Mistakes happen.

Review with what your favorite type of cookie is.

**Next chapter:** _"She looks up to you a lot, you know."_


	10. Hospital

Bright-eyed and dark-haired, Millie Spencer sits quietly next to the head detective's desk, drawing on his notepad. Employees of the police department bustle by her, barely even taking notice. A few female officers, gathered around the coffee pot, watch her, murmuring and gossiping.

"Did you hear? She's that blonde detective's daughter. You can see it in her eyes."

"And her dad's that one consultant we see all the time. Interesting they'd get married, huh?"

The head detective comes out of the interrogation rooms, walking up the steps and rubbing his forehead. The cup of coffee in his hand is scalding hot, and the faint bruise above his bright blue eye tells the entire department that the suspect he was interrogating wasn't being too friendly. He walks up to his desk and sets his mug on the white ring burned onto the wood, a result of never using a coaster. He leans down to Millie's eye level, and her face brightens immediately.

"Detective!" she greets enthusiastically (she always calls him by title in public places), and he can't help but smile. She's the only one who can do that.

"Hey there," he murmurs, and stands up, motioning for her to do the same. She jumps to her feet, landing with a soft _tap_. "Okay Mills, listen closely," he continues, and starts walking at a pace she can keep up with. "Your mom's coming back from the hospital today." Millie beams as they walk out of the department into the pleasant Santa Barbara weather. "And there's someone very important I want you to meet."

"As important as you?" she asks, and its so innocent that he can't help but laugh. He still finds it hard to believe that she's Spencer's kid.

"Possibly, Mills. He's your little brother, Nathan."

"But I'm three," Millie says, confused. "How could I have not known I had a little brother?"

At the hospital, Juliet is standing with her husband, holding a bundle wrapped in a blue blanket. Gus is next to his best friend, talking to a doctor. Carlton stands back as Millie runs to greet her parents, jumping into her father's arms and chattering excitedly to them. Shawn takes the baby and they start to walk to Gus' Echo, and Juliet lags behind to talk to her partner. He can't help but think that she looks a lot prettier today, despite just giving birth and being exhausted. There's this glow around her, and he expects it; she's always been the motherly type.

"She looks up to you a lot, you know." Her voice is soft, but the meaning of them sink in slowly and hard. They both watch her as she walks hand-in-hand with her father.

And it's such a peaceful scene that neither of them want to talk, so they don't, because there's another addition to the Spencer family, Carlton and Shawn actually get along because the latter's daughter loves the former, and the sun is shining bright and nothing can go wrong. At least, not on that day.

* * *

**a/n;** Don't worry, I've done more with Millie than keep her at a young age. I'm writing my short story for English on an adult!Millie...and yeah, Nate too. She grows up to act like Lassie. Surprise surprise!

**Next chapter:** _He's dead before he hits the ground._


	11. Birthday

For a while, the memory of Carlton at the hospital just stuck in her mind. He's a person, isn't he? Just because he's her uptight head detective doesn't mean he can't love babies, too. And if meant even more to her that he stayed with her during the delivery, as he never had any children of his own.

Five years later, Iris was, of course, five years young. She grew up to be her mother in a condensed form, but with her father's upbeat personality. And of course, with every young child's birthday, a party was imminent. Everything was going surprisingly well - not too much havoc, no accidents yet, and the adults were having a splendid time just watching the kids mess around.

The doorbell rang. Funny - she thought everyone was here. Karen Vick strode up to the front door of her home, opening it with a smile that hardened as soon as she saw who it was.

"Surprise!" Detective Juliet O'Hara exclaimed weakly, and she and her partner grinned quickly. Lassiter returned to glancing around suspiciously, and she noted his gun was drawn, kept at his side and his finger off the trigger. The safety was on. O'Hara was holding a pineapple, which was obviously a trick she had learned from Spencer - he usually kept a fresh pineapple in Guster's car for such occasions.

"Detectives," she hissed, stepping out onto the porch and cracking the door behind her, "you realize what day it is, right?"

"I could never forget," Lassiter replied gravely, his expression blank.

"And we're so sorry about this, Chief," O'Hara quickly added, her grip on the pineapple tightening, "but we have a situation."

"What could that possibly be?"

"A revenge-bent psychopath looking for you," was Lassiter's blunt reply. His finger slowly moved back onto the trigger. Vick pulled a face, gripping her head detective's arm.

"Which psychopath, Lassiter?"

"You know how the other day I came into your office and asked permission to use deadly force against a dangerous criminal?" he asked quietly, glancing around like people were actually eavesdropping.

"Yes, but-"

"That's the one we're tracking," he interrupted. "We didn't have a good visual on him, but O'Hara's deductive reasoning lead us to believe he was coming here. For revenge."

"And who is he avenging, Detective?"

"Remember that druggie I accidentally killed a few years back?"

Vick and O'Hara winced simultaneously. None of them liked bringing that up.

"Yeah, his dad's hell bent on revenge, and he seems to be going after you."

"Me? But I would assume he'd go for you..."

"I know," Lassiter sighed, "and that's what's worrying me. He's trying to get on a psychological level with me...and he might know that I'd be harder to ambush."

There was a slight pause as the two female cops though about this. True, Lassiter was the first to discharge his weapon, and he did keep eight guns in his house...

"Alright," Vick finally agreed. "You can be stationed here, but keep your safety on your weapons and don't let the kids touch them. Or even see them, if you can do that."

O'Hara drew her gun, and Lassiter held his up as a sort of habit.

"Right, Chief."

"And Detectives?"

"Yeah, Chief?"

"If he gets near those kids, kill him."

They stationed themselves in an awkward corner of the backyard that allowed them to see everything that was happening. A few kids were put off by the random strangers with guns in the corner, and some just went inside. Iris was the closest to the fence when Lassiter saw the hand. A man's hand, muscular, with hair on the knuckles and veins bulging out. It grabbed the top of the fence and started pulling the body it belonged to up. Lassiter's finger clicked off the safety in an instant, and O'Hara's voice rang before he could even lift his weapon.

"Run!"

The Chief didn't move from her position, but Iris did glance back to see an older man pulling himself over the fence with barbaric strength. When he was halfway over, his hand reached out, brushing the blonde hairs on top of Iris' head as she dashed toward the house...

He's dead before he hit the ground.

Children and parents alike screamed as Lassiter's gun went off and blood flew. Iris was inside the house by then, but the Chief was right beside her detective, who was holding his gun with a perfectly steady grip.

Wait, no. He wasn't dead.

The man let out a groan as the sirens from the cruisers started ringing, blasting through the air. Blood was spilling all over the grass. Lassiter still hadn't lowered his gun, and O'Hara put a hand on his shoulder. All his muscles were tensed.

"Lassiter," she breathed, "it's fine. He's alive."

"For now, at least."

He lowered his gun slowly, still not holstering it. She watched with concern, while the Chief went back into the house to calm everyone down and send them home with police escorts.

Iris had been staring at the head detective the whole time.

"Mom," she asked her mom, once all their guests were leaving, weaving through the police cars. Chief Vick put an arm around her daughter. "Who's that man?"

"Head Detective Lassiter, Iris. You've met him before."

"Did he...did he just kill that man?"

The Chief sighed, watching paramedics storm into her backyard. "No, hon. He's still alive."

"And this guy he shot tried to kill me?" Iris looked up at her mother with wide eyes. Chief Vick could only smile weakly.

"Actually, me. But you would've been caught in the crossfire."

Iris swallowed hard, but didn't say anything. "Well, at least he didn't grab me..."

* * *

**a/n;** I'm sorry, Lassie/Vick is like one of my favorite psych pairings ever. I'll shiptease it when I can. I'm a horrible person, I know.

and I'm sorry for the delay! I meant to upload this two days ago, but life got busy. btw, I'm now on psychfic! I have a daily-updated story with centrics on our favorite head detective, so if you want more happy Lassie time, I'm pianissimo on psychfic.

(Can you guess who my favorite character is?)

**Next chapter:** _He didn't deserve to find out this way._


	12. Blue

**a/n;** This was written three months ago. It was one of the first things I ever wrote for psych. YAY.

* * *

He didn't deserve to find out this way.

Carlton was more than her partner. He was one of the first people she connected with when she was abruptly transferred from Miami, and they were close. Of course, she _was_ dating the single reason he had gray hair, but kept it a secret for his own safety - and Shawn's. But he didn't serve to find out this way, not over a phone call at night in her time of need. They should have been telling him together, when Carlton was at his happiest, and she wasn't-

Oh God.

Juliet stared at the stick, crouched in the corner of her bathroom. It was funny how something that seemed so insignificant could change the course of her entire life, one night could alter things for good. Kind of like how her badge could get her killed.

Badge...right. Carlton.

She picked up her phone slowly, checking the time. 9:34PM. He'd probably be asleep, since Fridays were the only day they had the evenings off, and he barely got enough sleep with his incredibly irregular sleeping schedule. It was amazing he could even function in the mornings. And Carlton was really the only person she could call. Her parents would immediately go into lecture mode, and she could just hear her mother shouting over the phone, and the exact words she would say - she was just a little girl, she wasn't married - and Juliet couldn't deal with that right now. She had no idea where Ewan was, since he was supposed to be in jail. Shawn would turn it into some kind of joke or something, but she could never predict his movements anyway. Gus would panic, since he's Gus.

Carlton, however, was always in detective mode. She always joked that he was three parts detective, one part human, but she never realized how true that was until now. He would approach the situation calmly, with caution, and hey, he loved children. Sure, he'd be angry, but he's a pretty angry person as it is. He rarely ever snapped at her, especially in a situation like this. It was worth a shot. Besides, she'd have to tell everyone eventually, and it was best to start small. Or big. Whatever size her uptight partner was.

Juliet's fingers hit the speed dial button sooner than she realized it. It took him exactly one ring to pick up his phone.

"O'Hara?" Carlton's voice was groggy, and she knew if it was anyone else, he would've cleared his throat and made them wait one more ring. "Somethin' wrong?"

"Uhm, kinda," she said quietly. The blue dot was staring at her, burning her eyes. "It's find of an emergency."

"What?" Juliet could hear him bolting up, most likely grabbing his favored Glock, which he always kept within hand's reach. "You're not hurt, are you? Gun to your head? Hostage?"

She couldn't help but smile. That was so like him to jump to conclusions. "No, no, I'm not in danger."

He sighed in relief, and she heard him land with a _whumpf_ back into his pillow.

"But, I really do need you now."

"What for?"

She hesitated, looking at the stick. It's like it was taunting her. "I-I'm pregnant." And Juliet felt ashamed to be telling him. She took his momentary silence to mean him saying '_Wow. How could my partner be so irresponsible?'_

"Carlton?" she asked softly.

"Yeah, I'm still here." He paused. "Wow."

"Look Carlton, I know what you're going to say, and-"

"It's fine, O'Hara," he interjected, pausing again. "This may seem a bit forward, but we shouldn't be discussing this over the phone. I'll be there in five minutes. Okay?"

"Y-Yeah." If it had been any other time, Juliet would've been worried about him coming over. But her mind was numb, so numb. She looked down at herself, in a tank top and pajama pants. Not too revealing. Maybe the bunny slippers could go.

"And Juliet?" That's funny. He never used her first name. "Everything's going to be fine. Don't worry."

Carlton hung up, allowing her to drop her head into her hands and groan. She didn't know how to face this, but at least she had help from the closest thing she had to family in Santa Barbara.

There was a knock on the door exactly five minutes after Carlton hung up, but no one was keeping track. Juliet opened the door to an obviously tired Carlton Lassiter, but he didn't look like he was in the mood to snarl at people, like he would usually. He wasn't there to judge or reprimand her. He was there to help, and that was plain in sight by the way he was looking at her.

And so she told him everything. How she was secretly dating Shawn, how one had changed her entire life, how _scared_ she was, and how she really had no idea what to do from there. He listened with a straight-forward, concerned expression, not batting an eyelash at how weak and pathetic she probably looked. And Carlton talked her through it, momentarily putting his feelings about a certain psychic to the side to make sure his partner was emotionally stable.

In return, she let him stay in her apartment. Her tabby did seem to like him, though.

"I'd probably fall asleep driving home, anyway," he said with a slight, tired smile. You're a life-saver, Juliet."

But she sure didn't feel like a hero. Sure, to anyone else, he was the coldest detective in the department, trigger-happy, cocky, and incredibly bitter. But if they could see him now...

Juliet could only imagine how hard this was for him. His partner, the best he had ever had, was dating his rival, and pregnant with said rival's child. Being pregnant meant working at her desk for months, leaving Carlton to investigate crimes on his own, or with some nut job like Goochberg. Then there was maternity leave, unless she was like the Chief and went to work the next day, which was just like another three months without a partner. After that was all sorted out, it was obviously that he was going to play a part in this child's life, and that meant more people to protect on a personal level and more stress in his life. Juliet felt bad dumping this on him, she really did. But she didn't have anyone else to lean on in that moment of him, and he was willing to help.

* * *

I was thinking about doing a follow-up to this.

**Next chapter:** _She was shaking, and it wasn't because she was cold._


	13. Toll Phone

**a/n;** I'm so sorry for the wait! I have two other psych projects going on on psychfic, and they both require scheduled updating, leaving me with barely any time for this one. So to make up for it, this one is a lot longer than usual. I think.

Enjoy! (:

* * *

He woke up to a sunset.

Or he would've if he weren't in a run down, abandoned barn and he wasn't strapped to a splintery, rotten wooden chair that was far too small for him.

Carlton Lassiter realized with a jolt that someone was behind him. While attempting to get his wrists out of their duct taped prison, he also tried to identify who it was. Looking over as far as possible, he noted blonde hair...

"Carlton?" the voice behind his rasped. He sighed in relief; it was O'Hara, and she was awake and still possessed the motor skills to talk.

"Yeah. I'm right here."

"Where are we?"

"I...I can't tell you that, Juliet."

He was using her first name because this was not a situation in which he wanted to use the name he'd use for her officially. Those might've been their last moments, and he didn't want to Juliet's last though to be about him always referring to her by surname.

"You've been out for a few hours."

And that answered why his neck felt sticky and the back of his head was throbbing. With another jolt (his mind was incredibly groggy; jolts were the only things keeping him aware), the situation hit him full force: kidnapping. Violent kidnapping. And he was probably about to die.

"Juliet," he started lowly, trying desperately to free his hands. "We will get out of this. No matter what you think."

"Carlton..."

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something reflecting the setting sunset. Was that half of a pair of scissors, or was he hallucinating?

"Juliet," he croaked, trying in vain to shuffle to the side. His ankles were bound to the chair, which was probably the most frustrating thing he had ever encountered. "Tell me. Do you have a better view of those shears over there?"

"Shears?" she whispered, and he could feel her head turning. Whoever the kidnapper was, they had left her hair in its loose bun, rubbing lightly against where the blunt object had smashed into the back of his head. Ignoring the stabbing pains now shooting through his skin, he hung his head. Maybe the cut (wound? gash?) would scab over if he let it air out.

"Yeah, I can see it," Juliet finally answered, "but I don't see a way to get over there, unless you want to shuffle over there."

"I think that's our only option at this point, Juliet," he said with a slight groan. Whatever had hit him had certainly hit him hard. Suddenly, a huge wind shook the entire barn, making the wood creak eerily. The chilly air blew right into Carlton's face through a gap in the wall, suddenly stinging his chest.

He hadn't looked at his chest since he had woken up.

His chest was streaked with cuts, effectively slicing the front of his shirt into ribbons. Whoever the kidnapper/slasher was had certainly not been delicate; the blood had already dried, and the scratches were already starting to scab over, but he could tell these slashes hadn't been very shallow. His tie had been removed, and his shirt was unbuttoned far more than he remembered. Didn't he always button it up to at least the penultimate button...?

And so, the struggle began. They talked to rid the air of the silence, not just as partners, but as mutual friends. The head detective inched his way toward the shears, carefully so as to not fall over, even when it became pitch dark inside the barn - he had memorized every single detail on the single shear.

It was well into to night when he finally judged his location to be just where the shears where.

"I-I think I'm there," he announced to his partner, clenching his teeth. The movements, although small, had irritated the slashes on his chest, and his head wasn't feeling that great, either.

"Thank God," she breathed.

With a mental groan, Carlton realized that he'd have to tip himself over to reach his only chance at getting out of this barn. He started rocking his weight back and forth, the chair eerily creaking underneath his body. Eventually, the uneven weight and momentum was enough to topple the chair over, making the head detective land with a violent stab of pain through his head.

"I think I have a concussion," he groaned, attempting to shuffle along the ground to grab the shears, groping in the dark.

"Somehow, I don't think that'd be very far off," Juliet remarked.

Eventually, his hands touched cool metal, and his fingers writhed to grab the handle of the shears, shoving the (dull) blade beneath the duct tape binding his hands. Carlton sawed as furiously as possible, cursing duct tape and its unique composition. After what seemed like an eternity of being pressed up against the ground, awkwardly shuffling his hands, the duct tape finally gave way.

It was a miracle.

"Got it!" he rasped to Juliet, ripping his wrists apart.

"That is fantastic," she breathed. "Now get us out of here."

He ripped through the duct tape binding his upper body to the chair, pulling skin, hair, cloth, and scab material off of his chest. Getting his legs free was the easiest part.

"I can't see you, Carlton," she told him, as he blindly worked on her bonds in the dark, "but I'm sure you're not going to try anything."

He laughed dryly, though he's not sure why, as he wouldn't have considered it humorous in any other situation. Maybe it was the blunt force trauma getting to him. "All I'm concerned with is getting out of here."

Once they were finally free, they stood around rubbing their wrists and feeling around blindly, looking for their Glocks. One of the first things Carlton noticed was the lack of the weight in his holster, and this concerned him greatly. He eventually felt the familiar plastic shape on a makeshift table, but it was missing the scratches that the clock tower gears had left on his. The cartridge was also missing.

"This is yours," he announced. "It's not loaded."

"It's all we've got," she mumbled, feeling her way over to her partner and taking the empty gun from him. "Besides, it can be used for blunt force if it comes to it."

With shaky limbs, Carlton forced the barn door open. A chilly wind blew a rotten scent right at them, and the sight on the ground nearly made the head detective empty his stomach's contents right there.

It was the body of a deer, obviously shot in the head several times. Carved into the flesh was a note, written in huge letters: "THIS WILL BE YOU IF YOU TRY TO ESCAPE." Juliet wanted to scream, but her voice was a lump in her throat.

Carlton would recognize the shell casings next to the body anywhere. They were using his gun...they had chopped off his holster and was using his gun. _Victoria_ had given him that holster.

"Let's go," he managed to mutter to Juliet, stepping gingerly around the animal. Juliet grabbed his arm, closing her eyes and letting him lead her away from the reek of rotting deer.

"You two!" a voice shouted suddenly. Carlton looked up, his eyes looking milky in the bright moonlight. Against the only light was a human figure, obviously wielding a gun. "Wasn't that warning enough?"

"Juliet, run!" he shouted, pushing her into the forest surrounding the barn. She stumbled forward, turning back around to her partner.

"But, Carlton-"

"No! I'll handle her! Just go! I'll find you!"

She gave her partner another look. He had a concussion; she couldn't just leave him, right? But before she could start objecting, he had taken off, charging at their unknown enemy.

Turns out, their unknown enemy had a dog. A snarling Doberman refused to let Juliet back over to her partner, teeth bared and spit forming a menacing foam around its lips. The only thing detracting from its menacing appearance was its collar, pink with a heart tag, strangely enough. A concussed Carlton Lassiter was wrestling with an insanely strong woman, easily twice his partner's size and just as muscular as the head detective himself.

At some point, a finger pulled the trigger as Carlton wrestled with his opponent, ending with a shot being fired. Juliet finally found her voice, letting out a full-on shriek as her partner collapsed to his knees, clutching a bleeding arm.

"Carlton!"

With every brave thought she could muster, she tried running around the dog, only to have a chunk of her leg chewed on (and nearly _off_). Juliet slammed into the woman with shocking force, ripping her partner's gun from her hand and aiming at the dog.

"No!" the woman shrieked, clawing at Juliet's back. "Not my baby!"

The violent motions of the woman's claws forced Juliet to miss, the barrel of the gun shifting from the eye of the Doberman to its leg. It howled in pain, and Juliet took the opportunity to dash over to her partner, help him to his feet, and run into the dense forest.

They could hear the howls and sobs for a long time. The last few words they heard from the woman were, "I'll find you, you bastards!"

Carlton eventually collapsed against a huge tree in a clearing, his entire arm soaked in blood. Juliet clambered over to him over fallen branches, gingerly peeling his fingers away from the wound. The bullet hadn't actually gone into his arm; it ripped a hole in the very side of his arm, still oozing blood.

"We're going to have to bandage this," she told him softly, "even if there's a hospital nearby."

Carlton glanced around, finding nothing to his liking. Eventually, he just ripped a few shreds from his already destroyed shirt, passing it to his partner.

"Tie it on," he mumbled, looking away and holding his arm up for her. She frowned, but complied, gingerly tying up the wound. It immediately soaked the pieces of white fabric, and she didn't like how pale he looked, but it would have to do. Carlton ripped a few bits more of his shirt off, and she noted his hands were trembling in the slightest, something that would've gone unnoticed if she didn't know him very well.

"Your leg," he said simply, motioning for her to move it towards him. Gently, to not irritate the wound, Juliet shifted her leg over, letting him dress it in their unconventional way.

"This will have to do," he sighed, forcing himself to his feet. "Let's go find a town. I think I see a light ahead."

They continued stumbling through the forest, with Juliet attempting to judge the time by the position of the moon. It had to have been 2AM when they got in the fight, and it was near 4AM by the time Carlton fell out of the forest and into the street. As expected, the city looked deserted.

"Where is this?" Juliet asked. They both scanned the area for some sort of sign, until they saw the town name. Central, California. An odd name for a town, but as least it was still civilization.

"Look for a toll phone," Carlton said, with sudden determination.

"Shouldn't we be looking for a hospital?"

"The Chief _needs_ to know where we are, Juliet," Carlton explained, jumping over a low barrier and running across a street. She followed, though it was more of a limp-walk. "The sooner we get in contact with her, the sooner that sicko is caught."

"This is just like you, Carlton," Juliet muttered, as they wandered down the street. "More concerned about a criminal than your health."

A miraculous sight appeared before them; the blue sign with an H on it, signaling a hospital was nearby, and even better, beneath a streetlight, was a phone.

Carlton ran.

He pulled a quarter out of his pocket with shaky hands. Juliet stared at it. That one piece of metal was their ticket to getting this person arrested, to getting one step closer to medical help.

"Juliet, dial," he rasped, leaning against the box. He looked almost completely white, making his eyes stand out more against his skin than usual. The lighting didn't help; he looked like a ghost.

The female detective inserted the coin and dialed the Chief's number by muscle memory. She was shaking, and it wasn't because it was cold. Carlton's head was on top of the box now, and his eyes were closed - but he was taking huge breaths, so she took that as a good sign.

"Hello?" the Chief's wary voice answered.

"Chief!" Juliet nearly shouted, on the verge of laughing. She was still up...it was a miracle.

"De-Juliet!" Chief Vick exclaimed. Juliet could hear the creak of her chair in the background. "Where the hell are you?"

"Central, California," Juliet deadpanned, looking around. "We've got a criminal on the loose."

"I'd say; you two have been missing since noon today," the Chief sighed, the worry laced in her voice. "Are you hurt?"

"Yeah, but Carlton's a lot worse than I am."

"How bad?"

She sighed, looking at her partner. "I have a dog bite on my leg, and we're both pretty dehydrated. He's wrecked up...Maybe a concussion. A few slashes on his chest, probably a gash on the back of his head and..." She hesitated. "A gunshot wound."

"What?" the other end exploded. "Guns were involved?"

"We have our Glocks," Juliet hurriedly explained. "A mishap happened. There's no bullet in him, just a wound."

"I suppose that's better. Why aren't you two at the hospital?"

"Carlton insisted we call you first. He said that the criminal was far more important to catch than us surviving?"

"He said that?" The Chief sighed. "Typical. Who's the criminal."

"Laura Doppel," Carlton muttered, though it sounded more to himself than anyone else. "Laura Doppel..."

"A Laura Doppel?" Juliet relayed to the Chief. There was silence from the other end.

"No...not the crazy dog lady. Get yourself to a hospital, Juliet, I'll have authorities notified."

The line went dead before either of them could say goodbye. Juliet slammed it onto the hook, pulling on her partner's good arm.

"Let's go to a hospital. You're going to bleed out if we don't go soon."

* * *

**Next chapter:** I have no idea.

Seriously, I'm running out of ideas, so if you guys love me enough, you'll make requests. And if I submit something that no one requested, it's because I'm not _quite_ brain-dead. So, make my day and leave me a review. (:


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